


Round and Round

by Auggusst



Series: Heart and Mind [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha Tony Stark, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Beta Sam Wilson, Bond Sickness, Doctor's visit, M/M, Mpreg, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Pining, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pregnant Tony Stark, Regret, Steve's Letter to Tony Post-Civil War (Movie), cuz im lazy oops, self hatred, the letter is better than the one in the movie i just havent written it out, ultrasound, ultrasound appointment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23723680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auggusst/pseuds/Auggusst
Summary: A week after waking up in the Med-bay, Tony receives Steve's package. Steve, undercover in Turkey, isn't prepared for the way Tony reaches out.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Heart and Mind [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1670740
Comments: 50
Kudos: 336





	Round and Round

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy I can't wait to see what this stirs up, after the comment responses in the last two pieces hehe. A. Look at me, I wrote something in order! Normally I jump around the timeline, which I will most likely end up doing in this series too, but there's quite a few twists and turns that I don't exactly want to reveal. I'll work around them >:3 I think it's more interesting if things are revealed in parts and you have to piece it all together. Also it's easier to write that way. Prevents burn out.

Tony didn’t know how to feel, reading the letter Steve sent him. It was short, all things considered, but poignant in a way that screamed Steve, with simple but elegant words, and an apology to match. His handwriting was perfect, like he was writing a report, instead of a desperate attempt to reach out. (Tony didn’t know that this draft, the one he’d received, was the 14th Steve had written.)

His fingers curled around the sheet of paper, crinkled it a little. The brunet lifted the paper, sniffed it a little. _‘It smells like him,’_ Tony thought briefly, before pushing that thought aside to absorb the written words. He was angry. He was _hurt_. A couple of pretty words scribbled on paper wouldn’t fix any of that. He wasn’t sure anything would.

Tony sighed, and glanced at the box the letter had come in. He tipped it over, and a little flip phone tumbled out. Tony picked it up, stared down at it. He scoffed. Steve sent a burner phone, hadn’t contacted him through any Avengers tech or by his StarkPhone. He wasn’t even sure who had put him up to this, or where he’d learned the concept really, except maybe in a few of the movies they’d watched, but he’d done it. So that was that, he was on the run. Steve truly wasn’t coming back apparently. The realization made Tony’s throat tight, filled his veins with icy heat.

He took a harsh breath, winced at the way it made his ribs hurt. The brunet flipped open the phone, ran his thumb over the smooth buttons. He turned it on.

The boot up was kind of slow, and the screen resolution disgustingly low in his opinion, but Tony didn’t have time to focus on that, because he found that there was a message already, waiting for him to open it. What the hell could Steve possibly have to say that he didn’t in the letter? What was he expecting from Tony?

It’d been a little over a week since it all happened, and things were still miserable. His injuries still ailed him—in fact, he should have been wearing his arm sling right now, but simply got fed up with it, and rather suffered the pain for a little while— but the sadness, the despair, had transformed into anger. He missed Steve. Of course he did. He did want him back, but did Steve _deserve_ a second chance? Right now he didn’t think so.

Tony opened the message anyway.

[I know you don’t owe me anything. I know I messed up, so, so bad. But please, if you can find it in you to forgive me, call me. I love you.]

The brunet bristled. His fingers tightened around the little phone, to the point he could hear the plastic creak. He thought about destroying it. He thought about throwing it away, cutting off Steve for good, but knew, could feel in the wave of longing that overcame him, that it wasn’t an option. Tony didn’t care. He would fight the inevitable as long as possible, as he had at the start of all of this.

Tony frowned, clenched his teeth, and stood. He carried the flip phone to the bathroom opposite his office. He flicked on the light and stood in front of the mirror, judged his appearance. The cut on his forehead had healed up, and the bruises had mostly faded here, but the sickly darkness under his eyes? He didn’t think that would go away anytime soon.

He wasn’t here to see his face though, needed something much more unpleasant. Tony set the phone down on the vanity, and slowly tugged up his shirt, mindful of the pain in his arm, pulled it up over his head and off.

The purple and yellow spots that dominated his chest were, in a word, shocking. He brushed his fingers over the bruises, his lips tugged down at the low, blooming pain. They had faded, a little, in the week he’d been home, but would take a long time to disappear completely. He hated looking at them, but seeing them now strengthened his resolve, strengthened the anger that would keep him from falling apart.

 _‘You did this,’_ he thought, as if Steve could hear him. _‘It’s your fault.’_

Tony’s hand slid down, settled on his abdomen. It was still flat, for now, but he knew that would change in coming weeks, and it both terrified and excited him. _‘You should be here,’_ he told the Steve in his mind’s eye. _‘This should all be different.’_

But it wasn’t different, because Steve had cut him loose, had chosen a friend over him, his _bond mate_ , and had left behind everything they built, and had sent a little, shitty flip phone in his place.

Tony glared down at the device, remembered what he’d come in here for. He dropped his hand from his belly—Steve didn’t deserve to know, at least, not right now—and picked up the phone. He held it up to the mirror, framed it so Steve could see his body. The shot began just below his chin, and ended at the bottom of the mirror, near his hips. He snapped a photo, cringed at the little _click_ the old phone gave, and inspected his work. The quality wasn’t ideal, but the image was clear enough. Steve could easily see the evidence of his hard work.

Tony’s lips twisted in a sneer, and he sent the photo, with no caption, a dark sense of satisfaction filling him as it was marked ‘delivered’. He set the phone back down on the vanity.

Seconds later, it started ringing.

Tony stared down at it, his heart in his throat. The ringtone was average, peppy, and completely opposite of the situation. It was kind of annoying, honestly. He himself hadn’t bothered with a ringtone in years, had his StarkPhone on vibrate and FRIDAY ID his calls in the compound. There was something so out of the ordinary with this little phone that irked him. Maybe it was just because he was used to his own things, and that this was made by someone else, or maybe it was its simplicity, an average, boring, _normal_ little device that connected people. The mundane had no place in his world, and the realization made him feel lonely.

He let the phone ring nonetheless. It went on for a long time, and Tony kept his hands by his sides to keep from answering it. He didn’t want to hear what Steve had to say, no matter how much his hindbrain was asking for it, was asking to hear Steve’s voice, as if it could make everything better. He couldn’t make this better, at least, not for a long time. Steve had fucked them both over, and deserved to have those mistakes thrown back at him. (A softer, deeper part of Tony disagreed with that, wanted nothing more than everything to go back to normal, but he shoved it down.)

Tony stared down at the phone until it stopped ringing. Thankfully, it didn’t ring a second time.

He sighed, and stuck it in his pocket.

The brunet’s eyes teared up suddenly, and that familiar, ever-present ache settled in his chest. It was too much. All of this was too much. It wasn’t fair, shouldn’t have happened. If things had just gone differently, if the odds weren’t so spectacularly stacked against them…

A few tears slid down his face, and he wiped them away, tried stopping the tide of emotion sweeping over him. He didn’t _want_ to cry, didn’t want to break down. He knew once he did, he wouldn’t be able to pick himself back up for hours, like the time he spent crying last night, or the night before, or the first night, in the hospital, staring up at the monochrome ceiling and wishing for the comfort of his mate’s touch. No, it wouldn’t do him any good to cry right now. Besides, he had an Ultrasound to get to. He didn’t want the medical staff seeing him like this.

Tony took a shaky breath. He turned on the tap, rinsed the salt from his cheeks and dried his face in a fluffy towel. He sniffled a little, put his shirt back on, alongside his mental mask, and left the bathroom.

“I’m gonna spread some gel on your belly, okay Tony?”

The Ultrasound Technician’s voice cut through the noise in Tony’s brain, the storm of thoughts that had taken root the moment he left the bathroom on his end of the Compound. He was already horizontal on the patient’s seat, had been staring up at the ceiling while she marked some notes on his patient file. He was kind of nervous, honestly. He’d never done anything like this before, didn’t think he would any time soon. Then again, there were a lot of transpiring events that he didn’t foresee. Never in a million years had he imagined being here, like this, and specifically _without_ Steve.

He thought of the low, heated pain on his neck, radiating from his bond mark. It had started shortly after he woke up in the Med-bay, and hadn’t stopped since. He tried to put it out of his mind though, focused on the task at hand.

Tony absorbed her words, glad that she was walking him through it. Her name was Ina, another professional on the Stark Industries payroll, equally sworn to secrecy. Tony had only seen her in passing a few times around the facility, hadn’t really needed to have any kind of sit down visit with her until now. Celene was here too, at her own request, surprisingly. Tony was glad she cared enough to keep a personal eye on him. He’d always liked her the best. Her presence was kind of settling now, given the fact that he was here by himself. He would’ve asked Rhodey, but he was kind of bedridden, and Pepper was in California. He hadn’t really explained the situation to her yet.

Tony knew it was time to get started though, and braced himself as Ina held up the tube of gel. “Okay,” he replied, didn’t want to keep her waiting.

She looked at him expectantly for a moment, for a reason Tony couldn’t fathom, until Nurse Celene, by her side, chimed in. “You-You’ve gotta lift up your shirt.”

Tony blinked, looked down at himself, and exhaled a nervous laugh, feeling like an idiot. “I’m sorry,” he said, reaching down to pull up his shirt, embarrassment creeping up. He let the fabric pool around the bottom edges of his bruises, didn’t particularly want to see them again. Or feel them. He thought about the photo he’d taken earlier, with flip phone in his pocket.

“You’re fine,” Ina replied simply. “It’s natural to be a little nervous.”

“Yeah,” Tony said. He didn’t know what else to say.

The gel was _cold_. He jumped a little as it touched his skin, and the feeling was kind of uncomfortable, but he got over it quickly enough. He reminded himself to keep breathing, to calm down. Having people touch him since he came home was a little off-putting, even if they were people he knew. He’d have to learn to grow comfortable again, at least with the medical team. He needed them.

Tony was still as Ina re-positioned the device in her hands, and pressed it against his stomach. After a little finagling on the technician’s part, and her moving the camera around, she found what she was looking for.

“There it is,” she started, a small smile on her face. “At first glance, definitely around seven weeks. Here, take a look.”

Ina swung the monitor around, and Tony braced himself.

“Oh…” the brunet said softly. He didn’t know how to feel, really. The figure on the screen couldn’t really be called a baby yet. It was starting to look like one, had a definitive head for sure, but looked more like a bean than anything. Tony wrinkled his nose at the thought, tried to push it away. This was a hell of a lot more important than a bean, and was growing inside _him_ , not out on some stupid field. It was strange to think, made his heartbeat a little faster. All the same, something kind of warm spread in his cold chest, a welcome reprieve from the ache he’d been feeling for days.

“Kind of strange, huh?” Ina replied, and it put Tony a little more at ease.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes fixed on the screen. “It’s—It’s crazy.”

“Well let’s make sure everything’s going okay with your little one. Ready for notes, Celene?”

“Ready,” the nurse confirmed with a nod, her fingers ready to type on her tablet.

They confirmed the size of his fetus, and that it was growing properly. Its heartbeat was, thankfully, normal, and despite everything Tony had been through, it seemed to be fine. He was aware that could change though, remembered Celene telling him so a few days ago, and worry crawled up under his skin.

“So it’s doing okay?” Tony asked. “There’s nothing…nothing wrong? You know, because of my…”

“As of right now, everything is exactly how it should be. Your fetus is strong and developing how it’s supposed to.”

He gave a sigh of relief.

“That isn’t to say complications can’t arise,” Ina added though. “Your emotional state, your physical symptoms, they’re likely to get worse. I’m sure you’re already feeling a sense of discomfort.”

Tony brushed a hand against his neck, and his lips twitched uncomfortably from the pain, the unnatural heat it brought. A wave of melancholy overcame him too, and judging by the way Ina and Celene flinched across from him, it was reflected in his scent. Well. He couldn’t deny that.

“It’s…”

He thought about making light of it, but then thought about the little figure up on the screen, his future, which relied on him staying healthy. It wouldn’t do him good to lie to those trying to help him now.

“It’s still bearable, but it’s not easy. I just…”

“You miss him,” Ina supplied, nodding a little. Her gaze was sympathetic. “Your body is used to working in synergy with your bonded’s. You’ve developed a kind of homeostasis over the course of your relationship, and now that has all been thrown out of balance, physically, but also emotionally, from what I understand. It’s going to have a nasty effect on you.”

“Is there any way around it?” Tony asked. He doubted it, but he didn’t know much about this kind of thing, never considered he’d _needed_ to know. “Some way to stop it or mitigate the symptoms or…”

“Some people opt to break the bond. It’s a pretty brutal process, and involves a lot of hormone therapy. That isn’t really an option, in your current state,” Ina explained, gesturing to his belly.

Tony didn’t like the sound of that, didn’t want to risk it that way. Besides, he didn’t want to _break_ his bond. He just… he didn’t know really, what he wanted. He thought of Steve’s letter, of the fire that consumed him as he read it, the anger and pain that it inflicted. He thought of Steve being stubborn, refusing to listen time and time again over the last few weeks, of him fighting Tony at every turn.

He also thought of the comfort, the warmth he felt in Steve’s gaze before all of this, the sense of perfection he felt when they were lying together in bed. He thought of the way it felt to hear Steve say ‘I love you.’

He wasn’t sure what he wanted right now, what he _should_ want, but breaking the bond wasn’t anywhere on his list.

“How do I get back to baseline? I don’t want to break the bond. I just… I need to be rid of the co-dependence.”

“The only thing _to_ do is to continue to live, to keep your distance. You’re going to experience a lot of ups and downs, which, without the proper support, can negatively impact your baby. You need friends, strong ones, people to keep close. We’ll have to keep a close eye on you, especially these next few weeks. The first few months are critical for development, and considering a normal pregnancy already has a hormonal battle, one with the effects of Bond Sickness attached could be disastrous. There’s no telling how quickly things could take a turn for the worst.”

“The symptoms…”

“I can send you out with an informational packet, or maybe you’d rather do your own research. I’m sure you’ve been warned before of the risks of all of this, both physical and psychological. It’s not common or easy for someone with a bond like yours to go through a pregnancy alone.”

That didn’t settle Tony at all, but he’d already made up his mind. He was going to go through with it, no matter what it took. He was going to have this baby, was going to love it and care for it and never _ever_ hurt it the way he’d been hurt. He could handle it. He had to.

“Give me the packet,” Tony said.

* * *

Steve had tied and retied his boots at least a dozen times now. They were picked up from a thrift shop, and were a little too narrow, but were better than nothing. His t-shirt and jeans were in better condition, thankfully. His jacket he’d found in the back of the Quinjet, now well hidden in the middle of the forest, part of an emergency set of clothes he’d left there. He didn’t complain about his new clothes though, knew it was part of the path he’d chosen. He’d make do with what he got, like in his youth. It wasn’t as if he had an extensive wardrobe to rely on anymore.

He thought of the expensive Italian shoes Tony had bought him three months ago, pleasant brown leather with broguing and black soles, with matching laces. He’d worn them to a charity gala, ended up spilling a glass of wine on them, which stained a little, but he loved them anyway. Tony had told him not to worry about it when he apologized for potentially ruining them, bent over to clean the wine from his shoes with a napkin, and leaned up to give him a kiss.

Steve still remembered how Tony had rested his head on his shoulder that night as they danced.

The blond took a shaky breath now. There were tears welling up in his eyes as he stared down at his feet. It was hard to move, hard to speak really, with the heavy weight of failure on his chest, of regret. Tony had sent the photo only two hours ago, (maybe three? Steve wasn’t sure of the time anymore) of what Steve had done, of how he’d _hurt_ him, and…god. It was bad, _so bad_ , and for about the hundredth time, he wished none of it had ever happened.

He’d been hopeful, initially, when the little phone vibrated, told him that Tony had received his letter and its twin. He thought that there was a chance things could be fixed, that at least he could have Tony’s forgiveness, if not see him again. That hope turned to despair immediately when he snapped open the little device and saw the photo. There was no caption, but a picture was worth a thousand words, and Steve could only imagine the ones Tony was using for him.

Steve called. He tried to, anyway, but Tony let the line ring and ring and ring and _ring_. He planned on calling again, trying again, but nausea surged up from his gut like a rocket, and Steve found himself sprinting to the bathroom, and vomiting the little bit of food he’d had an hour before.

His neck burned.

He and Sam were meant to go out, to get groceries for the team right now. He was sure his friend was waiting just beyond the bedroom door. Wanda would remain here, keep a low profile. Natasha was out chasing leads, caught wind of a remnant Hydra cell in a town nearby, and was looking into specifics so they could take it down. That was good, Steve supposed. Having a mission would distract him, would give him a reason to keep going. It would help him atone for his sins.

He thought about trying to call again, desperately wished that Tony would answer, that he would hear the scientist’s voice, and that it’d be soft, like early in the morning, and filled with love, but it was wishful thinking. If Tony answered the phone, _if_ he did, he would probably be angry, vengeful and cold, like in Siberia, like Steve deserved.

Steve looked at himself in the mirror. His small injuries had healed, including the cut on his face, and he hated it. He hated that Tony bore the marks of his mistakes while he looked as if nothing happened, as if everything was fine. Nothing was fine anymore.

 _‘You’re disgusting,’_ he told himself. _‘You’ve ruined everything. You never deserved him, couldn’t ever deserve him. Look at what you’ve done. You just hurt him like everyone else, worse than everyone else.’_

His chest tightened with the thought, and his eyes burned with unshed tears. He was a failure, a _liar_. Tony had trusted him, trusted him with his everything. They’d agreed to trust _each other_ , but Steve hadn’t held up his end of the bargain. He could never find the words to tell Tony the one truth that haunted him, had tried so many times. It was his cowardice that had now driven them apart. How could he know it would lead to this though? He thought he had time. He thought he could wait, and that one day, the right moment would come, and he could sit Tony down and tell him everything, and hold him close while he cried. He thought he could break it to him gently, and that maybe it wouldn’t hurt so bad. He’d been afraid to find out though, had pushed it off over the years. He’d run out of time, unfortunately, and they were both suffering the consequences now.

He thought of Tony’s eyes, so dark and cold, red and rimmed with tears, with _fear_ , as Steve pinned him to the ground, bashed the shield into the chassis of his suit. He had broken it, broken the arc reactor, like he’d broken Tony’s heart, like he’d broken _everything_.

Steve remembered the way it felt, bonding with Tony. He remembered tying himself to the brunet on a level that seemed impossible. He remembered the joy, the relief, the soul-filling contentment. He had thought it too good to be true. Apparently, it was.

He felt sick again, tasted bile in the back of his throat as he remembered.

“ _You promise?_ ” Tony had asked then, his voice soft, hesitant. He looked so beautiful that night.

“ _I promise,_ ” Steve had replied without hesitation. He had meant it too. But what was intention worth now?

 _‘How many times have you let him down?’_ he asked himself. _‘How many fucking promises have you broken?’_

There was a knock on the door. It startled the blond, a testament to how out of sorts he was. It wasn’t usually easy to startle him, thanks to his heightened senses. He’d been so wrapped up in his head though, in his regret, that the knock took him off guard.

He inhaled a little, and the faint scent drifting in from the other side of it told Steve it was Sam who had knocked. It seemed he’d run out of time to mope, had to put up his wall again.

Steve brushed the tears from his face, sighed and shook his head. “What’s up?” he asked.

“Hey man, you ready?” Sam replied, voice muffled by the door.

Steve swallowed hard. Was he ready? Of course not. He could never be ready for any of this, had never anticipated being cut off from Tony, from even hearing his _voice_ , potentially forever. He’d certainly never imagined it would be his own fault either. Of course he wasn’t ready to carry on, to keep finding things to do and reasons to live, when the very center of his existence had just said goodbye to him. And the worst part was, it was his own fault. Was he _ready_ to accept that? To live the rest of his life without Tony at his side?

 _‘No,’_ he thought.

“Yeah,” he said.

Steve straightened his jacket, and pulled open the door.

The phone laying silent in his pocket felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds.

“How are you _really_ doing?” Sam asked as they hauled their bags back to the Hostel.

They’d bought enough for about a week. The fridge in the Hostel wasn’t that big, and Steve had been in Europe enough times to remember that fridges weren’t as massive as back home. They’d have to resupply every few days instead of once a month like at the Compound. It made him a little nervous, walking around the store and trying not to attract attention, trying to read the foreign labels and picking out things that were cheap and would yield well. He hoped he and Sam looked like a couple of tourists, and not like the fugitives they were.

The part of town they were in wasn’t glamorous in any sense of the word, it was filled with average people trying to get by. Still, there was the possibility of being recognized, even if it was a slim chance. The last thing Steve wanted was a fight breaking out. He’d expressed his fears to Natasha when they arrived here a few days ago, but she simply shook her head at him.

“We’re not the hot shit around here. Most of Europe, excluding the places we’ve made messes at, doesn’t really care about The Avengers,” she had said.

Steve considered that. It shouldn’t have been surprising, really. Most of their conflicts thus far have been on American soil, with a few outliers here and there. New York got the brunt of it usually. It was just an easy target, he supposed, or maybe their close proximity is what drew in trouble. Maybe they were the real danger, and the world needed protection from _them_. He hoped that wasn’t the case.

But just because average people weren’t after them didn’t mean they couldn’t be reached here, that there wasn’t any danger. If Ross caught them now, what would happen? Would they be locked up in The Raft permanently, or something even worse? How would Tony feel, if Steve was brought back to the U.S in cuffs? Would he stand silently, with steely eyes as Steve was put in captivity? Or would his eyes be soft, would he shed tears for him? Part of Steve wished he would, wished he still held a tender spot in Tony’s heart.

Another part of him knew that Tony would probably never shed tears for him again.

It was about a fifteen minute walk to the nearest grocery store; Nat had chosen their location well. The reusable bags in Steve’s hands crinkled as they walked. The weather was pleasant today, good summer weather this early in May, and it made Steve all the more miserable. Sam’s question didn’t help.

For a split second, anger rose in him, but he quelled it. “How do you think I’m doing?” Steve replied, the exhaustion clear in his tone.

“About as bad as you look.”

“I look fine,” Steve insisted. He didn’t really want to talk about any of this. He’d been alone in the room, thankfully, when Tony sent the photo. He didn’t have to explain the way his face went pale, and how he’d run to the bathroom to throw up. Subsequently, none of the others _knew_ that it had happened. Steve hadn’t told them about it. What could he say anyway?

Sam sighed, shifted the bags in his hands so he could adjust his hat. “Steve…”

“Drop it, Sam.”

The Beta frowned. “I’m not gonna drop it, man. You’ve gotta talk about it. Everybody knows what it’s doing to you already. How many hours have you slept since we got here?”

It was an appropriate question. Steve had a hard time sleeping, couldn’t seem to settle down. When it was dark and quiet, it only allowed him to more keenly feel his isolation, that unnatural and unsettling ache that came whenever he was separated from Tony. It seemed to only get worse each day. What could he do though? After the photo he’d received, Steve doubted Tony ever wanted anything to do with him again.

But Steve was a super soldier. He could handle running low on sleep. He could handle a lot, physically. “I’m fine,” he said with a shrug.

Sam gave him a doubtful look. “You might be fine now, but eventually you won’t be. Bond Sickness isn’t pretty. I had an aunt go through it once. She was in the hospital for months, and was never the same again.”

Steve didn’t like the sound of that. Of course it had crossed his mind in the last few days. Everything he’d ever heard of Bond Sickness was enough to make anyone nervous, but now, that it could potentially happen to him, the threat suddenly felt real. It could take a long time to set in though. Maybe Tony would find a way to forgive him before that. Maybe Steve could find a way to set everything right again.

He could admit he was already feeling off, though. He was fine, physically, but there was something deep within him that was out of sorts, like a loose screw somewhere, and although the chair would hold up without it, there was a kind of wobble on one of the legs. The blond ignored it.

“I can handle it,” he said, more so telling himself than Sam.

“Can _he_?” Sam asked, voice kind of soft. It made Steve stop in his tracks. “There’s two sides to this. You’re both gonna have to sort your shit out eventually.”

There was a beat of silence. A couple of school kids walked by them on the sidewalk.

“He texted me,” Steve replied finally, frowning down at the ground. “He didn’t say anything. It was just a fucking picture. A picture of what _I_ did to him.”

“You didn’t really have a choice,” Sam assured him.

He wasn’t particularly fond of Bucky either, but Tony had let his emotions get the best of him, like they _always_ did. If he’d kept a lid on it, maybe this all would have ended different. Maybe things would’ve gone different in Berlin too. Sam liked Tony well enough, felt gratitude on occasion whenever the brunet made him something new or helped him out, but he’d never really become _friends_ with Tony. Tony was Steve’s mate, and his teammate, and that was the extent of that. Of course he was on Steve’s side in all of this. There _was_ no other side for him. The Accords were dangerous and flawed, and the resulting mess was one they simply had to deal with.

Since they’d met, Steve had only ever done what was right. It was one of the reasons Sam liked him, something instinctive about the blond that made Sam decide it was worth it to be dragged into all of this in Washington a few years ago. He hadn’t regret the decision since, even though his life was essentially uprooted now. He wasn’t there in Siberia, didn’t know all the details exactly, but he was sure Steve had made the right decision, even if it was hurting him, even if things would be tough for them from now on.

Steve wasn’t placated by his words though. If anything, they just got him riled up. Normally he and Sam were on the same page, but not this time.

Sam could see his shoulders tightening, could smell the agitation seeping into the Alpha’s scent, and it made him grimace a little. Was Steve mad at _him_ , or at the world, or simply at himself? The Beta wasn’t sure.

Steve did have a choice in Siberia, he thought. He had a lot of choices, over the years, a lot of chances. He knew that now. He knew there was some way for it all to work out better, something he could’ve said or done differently, and that he had been too blind to see it. He knew that he’d made a mistake, one that had cost him everything. He wondered how many more he’d made over the years. Steve could tell himself that what had happened was the only way, that he was in the right, like Sam thought, and that he had to hurt Tony to stop him, that he had to walk away from him, but would it make him sleep better at night? No. No it wouldn’t.

Steve shook his head, looked directly into Sam’s eyes. “I did have a choice,” he replied. “And I fucking chose wrong.”

He tightened his grip on the handles of his bags, and kept walking.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave your thoughts!! I hope you enjoyed it. Things are only gonna go south from here LOL. (Of course there will be an eventual happy ending, I'm not that mean. But I'm pretty mean.)


End file.
